


Little Girl

by coveredbyroses



Series: The Porn Wars [16]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2021-01-30 16:42:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21431416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coveredbyroses/pseuds/coveredbyroses
Summary: A little musing over the joys of submission.
Relationships: Any Winchester/You
Series: The Porn Wars [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1338178
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Little Girl

You’re naked and kneeling before he even opens the door; knees spread, head bowed, arms behind your back. The mere sound of his boots thumping against waxed tile has your cunt slicking up hot, has your pulse pumping and pounding in your ears.

He always greets you the same: _Hello, little girl_. His voice is rich and deep, flows straight from his chest to your blood. His boots are worn and scuffed, mottled from years of bloody hunts, and your eyes stay dutifully pinned to them.

His fingertips are thick and scratchy as they brush along the silky line of your jaw, dipping down under your chin; pressing, tilting your face back to line your eyes with his. “Miss me?” he asks, eyes glinting in the faint light.

“Yes, Sir,” you always reply, blinking low and sleepy under his spell. “Always.”

“Good,” he murmurs, fingers dragging an easy graze over your skin as he pulls back to work his jeans open. “You must be hungry.”

“Always, Sir.” And it’s true; you spend your days slick and achy, mouth watering at the simple thought of it.

He grins crooked, cock thick and full in his fist, already weeping at the tip. “So,” he says, “suck.”

You heft yourself up, the arousal drowning the pain in your knees, and give him a slow lick over the head and down the shaft.

“No games, slut,” he grits, and you nod once before _diving_ onto him, lips tight and cheeks hollowed into shallow caves as you bob into a steady rhythm.

He frames his big hands around your skull, just for purchase, as he breathes his satisfied little moans into the quiet.

You keep your hands behind your back, have long since mastered the art of balance as you use your knees to push and pull along the heavy length of him. It fills you with a sense of pride; that you can please him like this, that you can draw the pleasure right out of him with only your lips and tongue.

It never takes long for his hips to tilt and curl, for the sticky wet to spurt and splash against your tongue and throat. You never miss a drop, and he stays deep in your mouth until he starts to soften.

When he pulls away, you always make a show of your swallow, stretching your tongue out long in proof.

He always smiles down at you, cheeks flushed and eyes hooded. “Good girl,” he breathes. “Such a good little girl.”

You beam up at him, a blushing pride darkening your own cheeks.

“Now, how much would my good girl like a reward?”


End file.
